14 July 2010

Hairy

So this is a post about my hair. The men who might be reading can stop reading because I promise you that this is going to bore you to bits. Patrick, however, must read this so he understands exactly why when he described my hair as being like “pelts of fur” that I did not take it as the compliment he swears it was meant to be.

Before I begin, I want to show you what I would want my hair to look like, every day, if I could wish on a magical fairy, lucky leprechaun, or generous genie. This is how it looks when I pay someone $50 to style my hair (for a wedding) and there’s no humidity:

See? Pretty pretty precious hair. I need a stylist on retainer.

My hair is thick. Like abnormally thick - deceivingly thick. Thick enough that every single time I go to the hair dressers (and I do mean EVERY time, even though I can go to the same stylist for years) someone in the salon will say, “Oh my god, you have thick hair.” The way it was described to me was that not only is the physical width of the hair strands itself thick, I just also happen to have just that much more hair than the normal person. Ask anyone who has had to clean the bathroom after I’ve been in there – there’s a lot of hair and a lot of that hair commits suicide every day after deciding that it is no longer fit for this world and the life it lives on my scalp.

A lot of people will say that they are jealous of me and my uber thick hair. I like to smile weakly at these people and then generously offer to donate as much of my hair as they want if they decide that a hair transplant is somehow in their future. Sadly, my offer is genuine. Don’t get me wrong – I am grateful that I will never be bald. I am grateful that as I get into my seventies that I will never have to investigate the cost of Rogaine for Women. But right now? The here and now when I’m not collecting Social Security and wondering how music got so damn loud – it’s a pain in the fucking ass.

Let me ask you this, ladies of the world – Not including the washing and conditioning of the hair, how long does your hair take you to do? 10 minutes? 15 minutes? A whole half an hour? After my hair is washed, it takes a full hour to dry and straighten. Oh sure, I could not straighten it. I could let those odd curls and manic nonsensical waves take over so I look like a sad homeless woman. A picture is greater than words. Below is a picture of me and my hair (it is an alter ego of mine – my hair – I should name it but I’m afraid it will get a big head – pun intended). This picture was taken after I straightened it but the humidity got to it so it ended up looking only slightly better from before the straightening process.

I obviously hate this picture with a passion. I'm only showing it to world for the sake of science. Notice that my hair appears to be eating my face.

I’m bringing all this up because this past weekend I decided to spend the hour and do my hair. I consider doing my hair as a special occasion type of thing reserved for weekends out and job interviews. The rest of the time I throw my hair in a pony tail, which looks awful on my odd shaped head, and call it a day. It’s actually amazing how different I look with my hair up vs. when it’s down. Andy used to make jokes about his Hair Down girlfriend finally coming out so don’t tell the Hair Up girlfriend. I’m getting off track here.

Yes! So this weekend we’re out at the pub watching the World Cup Final. The World Cup Final brought out a lot of people that I don’t think go out that much and which ultimately means that I normally don’t see them. The entire day I had people coming up to me telling me that they loved the way my hair looked down and that they’ve never seen it that way. Basically I had people come up to me all day to let me know that Hair Down is the way to go and that Hair Up sucks monkey balls and how do I ever consider leaving the house that way? Thanks everyone. I know how bad Hair Up is.

Hair Up? Sucking Monkey Balls.

I could write a novel about my hair but for the sake of keeping my readers, I’ll stop now. But before I do I have to say again, if you ever want any hair donations - I’ve got my hair clippers right here.

3 comments:

Thick haired women unite. Half hour minimum for me - and that's because I get bored. At the salon, the poor apprentice who gets lumped with having to blow dry mine always moans 'my arm is tiiiirrrrrred!' I feel your pain.

I only feel your pain because I have known you for so long. I always know that when I am visiting and it is shower time, you go first because it takes you longer to do your hair. I don't think hair up is that bad. Believe me, I do hair up A LOT these days. Besides, everyone looks better when they have their hair did. I think January was the last time I did my hair. And I am a 10 mins type of hair.

About me

I'm a girl from Milwaukee, Wisconsin who has spent the last 36 years moving about the US. Now, my British husband and I have made the big jump across the pond to go back to his hometown of Liverpool (UPDATE: We moved back to the States a year and a half later). Think Beatles and Super Lambanana. If you don't know what a Super Lambanana is, Google it - like, Right Now. If you don't know what a Beatle is, you are too young to be reading my blog. My blog is a bunch of fluff with a few thoughtful insights thrown in that I mock ruthlessly for being so soft. Bad language and poor spelling is my forte. I'm not responsible for any scare tactics that you fall victim too whilst reading. Oh. And I have a cat. Don't hold it against me. Seriously, she has really sharp claws and tends to bite.